Magnetism
by Small-Wonders
Summary: Jemma touches it before she can stop herself, fingers stretching out to brush the intricate strands of metal that weave together to form the necklace's pendent. "Don't-" Ward says, grabbing her shoulder, but he's too late. She's touched it, and he's touched her. Ward/Simmons
1. Chapter 1

**Warning: **This fic contains sexy-times while both characters are under the influence of a mysterious magical item of presumably alien origin. If that bothers you, turn back now.

**Author's Note: **I know this is not Oliver/Felicity. It's not Michael/Nikita, either. It was just one of those things that needed to be written so it could get out of my head and let me work on other things. That said, I could be persuaded to write a second part to this, but it would most likely be angst.

* * *

It starts with an amulet. The item is found in an archaeological dig and is quickly recognized as alien. As always, SHIELD is called in to examine it. This could not be more of a mistake.

(Actually, no. If Jemma is honest with herself, it starts when she leaps out of a plane and he jumps after her. It starts when she realizes she was hanging in the sky with her every limb wrapped around Ward's body. His very well toned body. She remembers hiding her face in his shoulder in an attempt to conceal her blush.)

Jemma touches it before she can stop herself, fingers stretching out to brush the intricate strands of metal that weave together to form the necklace's pendent.

"Don't-" Ward says, grabbing her shoulder, but he's too late. She's touched it, and he's touched her.

(They don't realize how completely, well, screwed they are until much later.)

* * *

Jemma has a hard time trying to sleep that night.

The temperature on the bus is usually cool, but Jemma feels way too hot. She's already stripped down to a tank top and boyshorts, yet her skin is still slick with sweat.

And she can't stop thinking about that amulet, locked away in a secure air-tight container in her lab. It's so pretty. So complexly made, and of a material that is definitely not native to this planet. Jemma's never seen anything like it before. She wants to see it again.

If she doesn't touch it, it can't hurt, right?

(Later, she will blame her inability to resist this temptation on the amulet itself. She'll blame a lot of things on the amulet. In reality, it is difficult to ascertain which of these things are actually the amulet's fault.)

Carefully, she pries open the lid of the container they use to subdue potentially hazardous alien material. The necklace gleams in the dim fluorescent light. Jemma takes it in her hands, staring intently for just a second, before she carefully loops it around her neck. The chain is long enough that the pendant hangs right between her breasts, and she touches it with her thumb as it settles into place there. The metal seems darker against her pale skin.

"What are you doing down here?"

Jemma jumps, pressing a hand to her chest, over the necklace. Her heart is racing. "Ward. You-you scared me."

Ward looks first at the empty box, then at the hand foolishly attempting to conceal her transgression. Quickly, she drops her arm to her side.

Without a word, he reaches forward and touches the pendent. The side of his finger brushes against the sensitive skin of her breast. Simmons draws in a sharp breath, but the rise of her chest only makes the situation worse.

She moves her gaze from his fingers to his eyes and that's a mistake too. His pupils are wide, and his expression is very focused. Intensely focused. Intensely focused on her. She wants to look away from the depth of that gaze, but it feels impossible.

The connection feels tangible, and for a moment curiosity kicks in. This is a similar sensation to the one she had when she first touched the amulet. And Ward was touching her when she first touched the amulet, so maybe this electric charge humming in her fingertips begging her to touch him has to do with the necklace.

Curiosity fully piqued, Jemma reaches up to touch Ward's neck. She's right; it's like his skin is magnetic to hers. He flinches when she touches him and then gives her a look of...she's not sure. Relief? Annoyance?

"That-that was for science," she stammers.

"For science?"

"I think I've just about gotten it solved. You and I," she swallows quickly, "we touched the amulet - at the base - electrons and protons, you see - it's all electricity, well, actually, half of it is chemistry, but the other half is electricity and - "

Her conclusion of I should probably take this thing off now is lost against Ward's lips.

Whoops.

She was never a huge fan of the 'kissing a girl to shut her up' bit in the movies, always thought it was rude and more than a little insensitive. Now, she forces herself to acknowledge the perks of the maneuver, because Ward is a very nice kisser. Very nice.

And it's not like Jemma's had a huge amount of experience in that area - well, a bit, she's dabbled, but not much - but she'd definitely give him a nine out of ten. Bonus points for the exceptionally skilled use of his hands should certainly be awarded, because oh, that feels good.

She's pushing herself up on her tiptoes in order to compensate for their height difference, but after one kiss has melded into two it hardly matters, since Ward takes a moment to lift her up and set her bum on the - thankfully empty - table behind her.

The case that previously held the amulet falls to the floor with a clatter and Jemma amends that last thought. Practically empty. It's inconsequential because Ward is still kissing her and his hands are running along the tops of her shoulders, sliding down the straps of her tank top to expose more of her too-hot skin to the cool air of the lab.

The absurdity of the situation hits her full force. Is she seriously making out with Grant Ward right now? Crabby Grant Ward? Who doesn't smile or laugh or be anything other than deadly serious?

Some part of her brain is trying to catalog all the different hormones and pheromones rushing through her system, but the thought process feels muddled. All she's thinking of is Grant's hands on her body and the sensation of his tongue against hers and she feels...very hot

She takes his wrists in her hands and lifts his arms up above his head. Obediently, he holds them there while she grabs the bottom of his shirt and pulls it up and off.

Then his arms are down and around her body, and his mouth is on hers again and she can't think. The material slips through her fingers, and she can't be bothered to care about where it lands.

Quite on their own accord, her legs fall open. Ward steps between them as if he's done this a thousand times - and maybe he has. The position is very similar to when he caught her mid-air, with her legs and arms wrapped around him and the strength and steadiness of him holding her up. Jemma likes it very much. Ward makes her feel safe in a way that few others have. He's not going to hurt her.

And so when his lips move from her mouth to her neck she only protests slightly because while kissing him was very nice, his lips are also evoking a rather pleasant sensation right there. And there. And-oh right there.

She's fairly certain she's said the last bit aloud because he chuckles and moves back to that spot a few seconds later.

Everything is moving very fast and very slow all at once. The dull throb between her legs has grown into a very insistent ache, and when Ward presses his hips against hers once, then twice, she moans in a rather wanton way she hadn't previously thought herself capable of.

His thumbs rub circles into her hips; his lips suck a slow hickey onto her neck. She whimpers and runs her fingers over his abs, curving a path across his ribcage. When he shudders, it takes her a second to realize that it's because of her.

"You are so," he kisses her lips again, "so beautiful."

She hasn't heard those words from anyone other than her dad in quite a while. For some reason Ward thinking she's beautiful is one of the greatest things in the world.

She wants to ask him what they're doing, why now, why this, why does she feel like the world will end if they stop, why her when he's never shown any interest before, why -

His hands are on the waistband of her boy shorts and he's looking right into her eyes. She just knows somehow that he's asking permission, and she can't think of a good reason why not. She wants him. She wants him to bend her over the table or throw her to the floor. She wants this need for something - for him - this weight of want in her chest and between her thighes, gone from her body. (And at the same time she doesn't, so that's properly confusing.)

Instead, Ward goes down on his knees and puts his mouth on her as he drags her undergarments down her legs. When she shudders and stammers expletives that would make her mother blush, he looks rather pleased with himself.

Sometime after that she pushes him to the floor, shucks off his jeans, and lowers herself onto him, bracing her hands on his shoulders. He says her name reverently, and it's the most beautiful sound, twisted and pulled from his lips as he appears to fight for some modicum of control.

She keeps her eyes on his; her focus is on him more than any of the movements her body is making. She finds her release a second before he does, and once that burden of want is lifted, she slowly collapses onto his chest. He wraps his arms around her and keeps her close to him. She can hear his heartbeat slow, and she recognizes that the pounding in her head and in her chest is slowly fading, but in it's place, sleep quickly takes hold of her senses.

Pressed between their chests, unnoticed, the amulet glows a bright, steady blue.

* * *

Jemma wakes up in the morning and her head hurts. A quick examination of her surroundings confirms two things: she's in the lab and she's wearing Ward's shirt.

The sound of someone clearing their throat makes Jemma look up. Melinda May stands in the doorway, arms crossed. Behind Jemma, a shirtless Grant Ward groans and sits up. He pales when he sees May. Jemma covers her burning face in her hands. She remembers far more of the night before than she wishes she did. The amulet seems to burn against her chest.

She can see no possible way for this to end well.

* * *

end.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I'm going to continue to blame open-pandoras-box and notababoonbrandishingastick for this. I still can't believe I'm shipping these two, and the blame definitely falls upon the two of you. I majorly lucked out that at least some of the Norse mythology I started researching (um, *after* the first part of this fic was posted) actually fits in with what I'm doing here.

* * *

"What do you remember?" May asks.

Jemma pushing him to the floor; the feel of him sliding inside her; the look on her face as she co-

He closes his eyes tightly and shoves those visuals from his mind. It comes as no surprise to him when he has a difficult time looking May in the eye. "It's all a bit of a blur, to be honest."

May has to know he's lying through his teeth. She's too good not to know. Grant's not sure if he's relieved she isn't calling him on it, or distressed that she's going to let him suffer under the weight of the full knowledge of everything that happened.

"You don't need to worry about any disciplinary action," May says, in a tone just a touch gentler than usual. "These things happen."

The fact that by "these things" she means possession by alien necklaces that obviously contain some form of libido altering juju does not help Ward feel any better.

"We need to talk to Simmons," Coulson says. "And you both need to know that nobody's blaming you for things that were obviously outside of your control."

Something in Ward's stomach clenches tightly. Out-of-control is not a position in which he feels even the slightest amount of comfort. And it's one he keeps finding himself in since Jemma jumped and he followed.

"What's going to happen to the necklace, sir?"

Coulson doesn't answer for a second. "Right now, we're going to keep following protocol. It's going to get locked up in a dark room, and we're going to throw away the key."

"Jemma's going to want to look at it."

"Jemma's not going to go near it," May says. "That's what started this in the first place."

After Ward leaves Coulson's office, he finds Jemma on the couch in the common room, Skye and Fitz sit on either side of her.

"Jemma," for some reason it's difficult to say her name, but calling her Simmons feels really wrong. "They want to talk to you."

He can't take his eyes off of her as she leaves. Fitz marches off as soon as Jemma's out of sight.

Skye stares up at him with big, wide eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Jemma, eyes wide, hands in his hair, coming apart just from the touch of his lips-

Ward shakes his head. "No. I don't."

* * *

Jemma descends the stairs slowly, half expecting Fitz, Skye and Ward to all be waiting for her at the bottom. They're not, thank heavens. At least, not all of them. Ward is sitting on the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands on his head. He looks up when she slowly sinks into the chair across from him.

Last night is fuzzy around the edges, but the thing Jemma remembers with perfect clarity was the way Ward looked at her. Like he could see right through her. Like he understood her, every part of her. And she remembers looking at him and understanding him. She remembers feeling like her whole soul was laid bare, but also that it was safe, because his soul was bare too. It was a give and take of trust in equal measure, the same weight of intimacy on either side of the scale.

Now his eyes are on hers, and all she sees is regret. She wishes it didn't sting as much as it does.

"This is my fault," Jemma says. Maybe if she takes the blame he won't look so much like a kicked puppy. Ruefulness is a unsettling expression on Ward, and it makes her feel like the world is going to crumble at any moment. "I shouldn't have touched it. I'm sorry."

"I'm the one who is supposed to protect you."

"Yes, from bad guys with guns or knives or stupid decisions like jumping out of an airplane. I think defending against Alien Sex Pollen is technically my department. I'm the one who is supposed to fix things."

Quickly, she looks down, away from Ward's eyes. "I don't know how to fix this, and I'm sorry."

She hears him sigh deeply. "You shouldn't have to fix this. I should have stopped it."

"You should have stopped an alien device that either raised our libidos or lowered our inhibitions or - in all likelihood - both? I think you can cut yourself some slack." She clears her throat and tries to take a lighter tone. "Besides. I'm here. I'm alive. You're alive. There don't seem to be any lasting effects."

Aside for this unbelievable desire to kiss him, but she's not mentioning that. Jemma's not even sure if that's her or the amulet, but since all she wants is a kiss - and if she's truthful with herself, she wanted that before the necklace was even a thought in her mind - she doesn't think there are any lasting effects.

She wishes they'd let her examine the amulet more. All she wants to do is dissect it piece by piece, see how it messed with their chemical balances, because that's what it must have done. It must have.

It doesn't matter that they won't let her near the amulet though, Jemma has a plan. It involves Skye and way too much research into the nonsensical and non-science-y, but it's a start. And she needs to start somewhere. She needs to know where her actions ended and the amulet's began.

More than that, she needs to know where Ward's actions ended and the amulet's began. Because she's fairly certain that while she finds him interesting on a romantic level, he's never looked at her like that. It seems like a cruelty of the universe to let her have sexual intercourse with him - and very, very outstanding and pleasurable sexual intercourse at that - and have it not be something he'd want.

Surely the universe can't hate her that much.

* * *

Jemma nervously shifts her weight from one foot to the other as she knocks lightly on the door to Skye's bunk. "I need your help."

Ten minutes later, Skye's grabbed a laptop and Jemma is frantically scribbling down notes.

"I thought you didn't believe in all this 'magic' stuff," Skye says as she sifts through. "What's with the change of heart?"

"I still don't believe in magic," Jemma answers, "I have, however, come to the realization that more primitive society's might have seen science and called it magic. Learning the folklore behind this...thing might help me figure out what it did, and come up with an actual hypothesis for how it works according to the laws of science."

"Right," Skye says, drawing out the world. "Are you sure this isn't you just trying to avoid thinking about what happened?"

Ward peeling off her shirt, Ward trembling as she runs her fingers over his stomach, Ward's sharp intake of breath as she tugs down his pants and -

Her face is flaming red, and Jemma presses both palms to her cheeks.

Skye doesn't lift her eyes from her computer screen. "Wait - here's something..."

"What?"

"Well, I've pulled up the pictures and the 3D rendering of the amulet that one of Fitz's dwarfs got when we first picked it up. There's some detailing here that might correlate to an Asgardian script."

"What comes up when you do a search on Asgardian jewelry?"

"That was the first thing I tried. Most of the hits are for places selling Asgardian themed costume jewelry to raise funds for rebuilding New York."

Jemma sits back in her chair.

"Woah," Skye says a second later, "Get this: there's a Norse goddess of sex and lust - Fryja - who's remembered for having - and losing - a necklace called the Brísingamen. This site doesn't say what it did or why she had it, but look, according to legend, Odin banished her to...mi-o-gar-o?"

"Miðgarð," Jemma says, suddenly breathless. "That's Earth."

* * *

Sleep is an elusive thing when one's brain has a limitless selection of vivid images of naked Jemma Simmons to keep it awake. This is something Ward is learning the hard way.

He's slamming his fists into his punching bag when Jemma descends the stares near the lab.

They don't say anything to each other. She gives him a sad shrug; he gives her a nod of his head. For a while, they work in tandem. She bustles about the lab, he looses his anger at everything upon the poor unsuspecting punching bag.

His anger is mostly directed at himself. He should have stopped it. He should have realized what was going on.

He shouldn't have enjoyed it so damn much. That is the worst part. He enjoyed it. The thought turns his stomach. Every time his thoughts inevitably turn to the previous night, to Jemma's skin and Jemma's hands and-

Grant shuts his eyes and tries to block out the images flooding his mind. He doesn't have much time to do so, because at that moment he hears the door to the lab slide open. He turns to look at Simmons. She's biting her lower lip, and he tries not to think about how very much he'd like to do the same.

"Since you're awake...would you mind terribly if I did another physical?" she asks. "I'd like to compare the readings with the one I did this morning?"

Ward shakes his head. "I don't mind." It's the least he can do, really.

He hesitates when she motions for him to take his shirt off, but it's a pretty standard request for a physical.

Jemma frowns at her stethoscope. "Your heartbeat's accelerated."

He doesn't know how to tell her that it wasn't racing before she placed her hand on his bicep.

"Oh," she says suddenly, pulling her hand away as if she can read his thoughts.

He wants to groan at the loss, wants to grab her hand and put it back.

(He wants to grab her and wrap his arms around her, lift her up and taste her lips as he rips off her shirt -)

Turning away, Jemma ducks her head, and he sees just the tiniest hint of a blush on her cheeks. The urge to kiss her is so overpowering he has to casually place a hand on the nearby counter to steady himself.

Jemma's saying something, long words stringing themselves together into longer sentences, but for a minute or two Ward can't follow it at all. Her voice is quiet, but it fills up the space between them.

When she turns back towards him, he can't help reaching out to touch her. It's unbearable, this need, low in his hips and tight in his chest. She lets out this quiet gasp as his hand finds her cheek, and her eyes instantly close. He wonders if it feels as righ - as gratifying - to her as it does to him.

He moves to cup her other cheek with his opposite hand, slowly leaning down. Their foreheads touch. They're so close together, but her lips feel so far away.

"Sorry," he says, brushing his thumbs across her cheeks. "I'm sorry."

She wraps her fingers around his wrists. "Don't be. Please don't be."

He looks down at her to see that her eyes are shut. They're close enough that he can feel her breath against his mouth.

Something inside him breaks and before he can stop himself he's closing the distance between them and kissing her.

For all that they've been standing beside each other purposefully not kissing for the past three minutes, she actually reacts with surprise. Her hands tighten around his wrists, and she makes this muffled hmmm against his lips as she parts her own, flicking the tip of her tongue against his mouth.

With a low moan, Grant bends at the knees, grabs hold of her thighs and hoists her up, wrapping her legs around his waist even as he continues to kiss her. She feels like perfection, like all he's ever wanted and all he ever will.

He only abandons her lips to press kisses along her jawline, finding the spot that makes her gasp and grind her hips against his. Simmons tips her head back and lets her mouth fall open; her arms wrap around his neck, fingers scratching gently against his scalp.

"Ward," his name is a breath against his ear, and he holds her just a little tighter in response. He thinks she's going to tell him they can't do this, which, she's right.

He really should set her down.

He really doesn't want to set her down.

"Not in the lab," she says, and it's not exactly permission but at the same time it sort of is, so he takes it. The bunks won't be quiet enough, even if he could fathom carrying her up the stairs.

Grant carries her around to the back of the SUV, and she loosens her legs around him, sliding down his body and back onto her own feet while he fumbles to open the door behind her. Both back rows of seats are folded down, giving them a bit more space.

It's still a bit cramped, but she's breathing hard and lifting herself up onto the surface. Her hands are on Ward's shoulders as she pulls him in after her. He catches her lips as he coaxes her backwards. Keeping one hand on the small of her back and the other behind her neck, he lowers her down onto her back settling himself between her legs.

She wiggles just a touch, getting into a more comfortable position for both of them. Once she's accomplished that though, her hands quickly go to his pants, flicking open the button of his jeans and tugging down his fly. He groans into her mouth.

"Is this okay?" he asks, and he's not sure if he's talking about all of this or about the fact that his hands have just slipped beneath his shirt, fully of their own volition.

"Oh, hell yes," she breathes, eyes tightly shut, mouth falling open as she rocks her hips up against his.

Everything falls into a wonderful blur after that. Her skin sliding against his skin, and the sound of her whispering his name (his first name - "Grant. Grant. Grant.") when he does something right.

The sight of her climaxing beneath him is incredible, but he only has a fleeting second to enjoy it because his release chases hers. The next thing he knows he's got his face tucked against the curve of her neck and her hands are soothing a path up and down his spine.

Panting, Ward lifts himself off of her. He turns his head, she turns hers, and their lips meet in the middle. It's a soft, slow kiss, nothing like the frenzied actions a few minutes ago.

When they part, all they can do is stare at each other for a moment. Then Jemma lets loose a high, melodic giggle.

Bending to rest his forehead on her shoulder, Ward joins in on the laughter. It feels bizzare, almost as alien as the necklace locked away somewhere; he can't remember the last time he laughed like this, low and real and from his gut.

"So much for no lasting effects," Jemma says with a sigh. She the length of her fingers against her mouth and looks up at him with these bright, shining eyes.

So he kisses her. Not because of any sort of compulsion, not because he feels this blinding, all-consuming need. No, he kisses her because he wants to kiss her. He kisses her because she's beautiful and that definition spreads to every part of her.

He kisses her because he suddenly wants to kiss Jemma Simmons, and he desperately wants it to be real this time.

* * *

In a box locked far away, the amulet's bright blue glow slowly dims into nothingness.


End file.
